


Keeper of the Keep

by Kitma



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitma/pseuds/Kitma
Summary: You could have a wife, if you wanted. Vesemir talks to Eskel about taking over his job as keeper of the keep
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 20





	Keeper of the Keep

“You could even have a wife, if you wanted”, he added.

Eskel rubbed his scar, not knowing how to reply. He wondered what the teachers would say if they heard that; a witchers job, nay, life, was to hunt and slay monsters. They walked the Path alone, and they died alone. Witchers didn’t love. They weren’t even human anymore. Just a mutated automaton with a singular goal. Not to mention infertile.

What was a man who could not give a woman a child? What woman, what person, would bind themselves to a creature that brought only death and destruction? A mutant-? Eskel cut himself off, knowing the thoughts weren’t true, that is was the trauma from the training, and the way the world treated him talking. He was not a monster. He was a man. He would not wallow in self-hatred like his brothers. Still, with an ugly mug like his…surely they could do better.

Vesemir looked at his eldest son, knowing what thoughts ran through his head. Yet of all his pups, Eskel was the most mature and responsible —the most well-adjusted— making him the ideal choice as successor.

Many witchers would find being rooted at Kaer Morhen oppressive, restrictive. Decades of walking the Path became ingrained in them; a restlessness to keep moving, as if one could out-run their demons. Eskel had come to terms with who he was earlier than most did, if they did at all. Vesemir feared Lambert would never banish the anger that burned inside, and hoped that being a father to Ciri would quell Geralt's self-loathing.

He was truly proud of Eskel and the man he had become. Eskel who had comforted Lambert in his own way after the trials, Eskel who escorted Lochlorii from Meliteles temple to the Keep for winter and back again in spring, Eskel who asked forgiveness from the sorceress Triss Merigold regarding Ciris indisposition. Vesemir respected the younger witcher greatly, trusted his counsel. He had a kind heart, a level head, and had been smitten with the same woman for years.

The old wolf clasped a hand on Eskels shoulder.

“Allow me to give you some advice, from a father to his son”

Eskel glanced at him, surprised to hear Vesemir speak of him as his son. They all viewed the elder witcher as a father figure, but it was never said out loud, as many things between the wolves were left unsaid.

“A woman with a long life who chooses to spend it with a witcher is a rarity, Eskel. Don’t let it slip away from you”

Eskel saw the sincerity in his mentors eyes, and knew to whom the older wolf was referring, not that the list of women he knew was very long. Lochlorii, the nymph of the northern meadows, ‘daughter’ of the late witcher Bauldin. One of his closest friends, next to Geralt.

They were inseparable during the winters, to the extent that Jaskier the bard called them ‘a matched pair’. Eskel was happy to sit and tend to his blades in the laboratory as she worked, softly singing in her dialect of Elder or chattering happily about the various plants and organisms she tended.

He didn’t complain when she needed his help to reach the top shelves, even if she claimed he had picked the wrong thing. He never pointed out the ladder Coen had fashioned one winter at Vesemir's request after she had been spotted clambering on the countertops in search of a jar of dried _Ulva lactuca_.

No, Eskel would pick her up, arm firmly around her thighs to steady her as she passed bottle or vial or book down to him, in a masked attempt to be close to her, to hold her, to smell her willowy scent. He thought -hopefully, foolishly- that she asked for his help for the very same reason, as she always seemed to need something off a top shelf despite being the one to organize the place after the raid of the Keep.

Eskel toyed with the small holey grey stone that hung by a leather cord round his neck. It had been given to him by her so many years ago, charmed in union to another, a smooth black river rock with a small spherical indent on one side.

“So I don’t have to wonder if you’re alive or not” she had explained, as she rubbed hers and he felt _something_ from his in his palm. He found himself absentmindedly holding it, rubbing a thumb over it often when alone on the trail. It was a piece of home, a physical sign that someone cared for him, that he wasn’t truly alone.

He caught himself, and gripped the outlook railing instead. He didn’t want her to sense his unease, his inner turmoil. To act selfishly, to misstep, was to risk losing her forever. What if she didn’t love him the way he- the way he cared for her? How freely she used the word ‘love’, doling it out with a kiss to the head to each of them before retiring each night, or after a tight embrace and kiss of the cheek to each at the start of spring. Even Jaskier, who she had known the shortest, was quickly showered with expressions of love and affection. What if-

His thoughts were cut off as Vesemir spoke.

“Don’t make the same mistake I did, Eskel” and with that he left, leaving Eskel with his thoughts and a charmed stone.


End file.
